


The Adventures of Biggles

by HSavinien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Multi, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-10
Updated: 2009-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink-meme prompt: Aziraphale/Crowley/Adam booksmut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventures of Biggles

A muscle in Aziraphale's jaw was twitching sporadically. Adam had driven into London earlier in the day and though he was a lovely young man—polite, but with that darling, mischievous human streak in him—his presence had set Aziraphale's nerves to pieces within the first hour. Of course, Crowley had chosen this afternoon to pop in for a visit as well and apparently decided to stick around to watch the fun of an angelic nervous collapse.

They were in among the first edition children's books now. Aziraphale had grown rather fond of  _Biggles_ ,  _The Child's First Alphabet_  and their compatriots—the  _Alice_  alone was worth several thousand pounds. Of course Carroll had been rather disturbingly fond of taking pictures of the Liddell girls, but that had been the fashion of the times. Aziraphale peered around the shelf reluctantly, as a new burst of laughter pealed from the Js.

"Ooh, lor- he- thing, Adam," Crowley chortled. "Look...97, 40, 36, 37, 55 and 74.  _Biggles Sees Too Much, Works It Out, Breaks the Silence, Gets His Men, No Rest For Biggles_ and—there's the icing on the pastry of your choice-" He seemed to be nearly choking on his laughter. Past the wheezes, which were, Aziraphale thought tetchily, entirely voluntary for a being who needn't breathe, he finished. " _Biggles Takes It Rough_!"

Adam was giggling rather too much for a 22-year-old Antichrist. "Does sound like the whole squadron was having it off with each other regular, doesn't it? Ginger was a daft bloke, but Biggles was still always pulling his arse out of trouble. Makes you think he had a bit of vested interest in it."

"All right, that's quite enough of that," Aziraphale snapped, rounding the shelves and pulling the maltreated book sharply out of Crowley's hands. "If you're really that bored, you can go to the shop next door and get something disgusting to amuse yourself with. You needn't mock poor Bigglesworth and his friends."

"Tch." Crowley shrugged, getting up to drape his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. "That's not it. If they will go on 'ejaculating' things and calling each other pet names, what are we supposed to think?"

"We weren't mocking, really. Good for them; Algy, Ginger, Bertie, Biggles. That's what friends are for," Adam added. He was much nearer than Aziraphale had thought. Suddenly, the angel froze and looked at the two of them and their identical sharp grins and saw the demonic side in Adam that matched Crowley's—not cruel or really malicious, but oh... _wicked_.

***

Crowley had not actually expected to go to the bookshop. He'd been headed for the Tate to aggravate tourists and school groups when his mind wandered and he ended up taking the turning toward Soho instead. Well, he could take a hint when he felt like it and it had been a week or so since he'd visited Aziraphale, so Crowley shrugged and parked behind a rusting, aged Mini. Once inside, well, he hadn't any choice but to stay. He wasn't nasty enough to abandon the obviously-frazzled Aziraphale to the unnerving presence of Adam. The boy had grown up well—a fine sharp glint in his grin, with just enough of a streak of clever humanity to soften the edges so they didn't cut.

To give Aziraphale a bit of a rest, he dawdled the Antichrist to the back shelves. Let the angel fondle some dust-jackets and regain his composure. They were laughing over the obviously-repressed-homosexuality behind the titles of the  _Biggles_  books, when Aziraphale swooped down on them like a not-avenging-yet-but-quite-seriously-considering-the-possibility angel.

Aziraphale looked positively wounded by Crowley's joke, but froze at Adam's last sentence, tensing as if cornered. They had cornered him, hadn't they, Crowley realised. He opened his mouth to speak as he turned to look at Adam and froze himself as he saw both their faces side by side. The two of them together—not arrogance and holier-than-thou cleverness but eyes too wise for Earth...

***

Adam was very good at adding up and this equation was at once simpler and far more complex than anything he'd done in maths at university. One and one and one made three, but it also made one.

"'Course," he added, "Biggles was always jaunting off to do heroics. Sometimes, I think, it'd be just the three of them. Algy, Ginger, and Bertie together."

***

"Flying," Aziraphale breathed. Then angelic hands clasped gently but firmly around the two narrow waists, and demonic fingers tangled in two shades of lighter hair, and a young man far more human than he had ever been intended clutched the shoulders of beings who had grown into humanity.

It was clumsy, and Crowley nearly developed the first-ever case of demonic hiccups from shock when Aziraphale's hand slid authoritatively into his trousers. The angel had miracled everything valuable to safety as soon as they touched each other, but was perfectly happy to drag the other two back to a small store-room, where worn out pulp novels went to die. Crowley was starstruck, mouth hanging open as Adam spread the pink-cheeked Aziraphale nude across a pile of loose-paged, coverless bodice-rippers. The obvious incongruity of the sight faded as the angel stretched, black print and slightly off-white paper making his corporation stand out in Crowley's vision. Adam slid over top of him, golden skin against pale and pink. Crowley's throat bobbed.

Aziraphale stretched, the paper soft on his bare skin, and dragged one hand down Adam's back as that clever mouth latched onto his throat. It pulled a moan from him as his other hand caught Crowley's hand and pulled him down onto the books as well.

Crowley traced down Adam's spine with his free hand, then caught Aziraphale's fingers to his mouth. He treated it to the same concentration Adam was dedicating to Aziraphale's throat, eyes crossing as Adam shifted to recline across Crowley's lap without a pause in the snogging. In a while he would take advantage of that. But they had plenty of time. There was all the time in the world to dedicate to flying, and at least one of them could guarantee that.


End file.
